by M. B. Gerard
***
Whether the injury was serious or not the physiotherapist couldn’t tell yet. But the ankle was swollen like a balloon and it didn't look like it should bear the slightest weight.
Elise Renard was sitting in the small infirmary next to the center court and observing the clock above the door. When would a doctor come and give them a diagnosis? After waiting another five minutes she finally got up and walked into the treatment room where her German partner Christoph Franke was lying on a bench. He was covering his face with his hands and his coach was pressing a bag of ice against his injured ankle.
It had happened during their practice. They were trying out different combinations and doubles tactics when Franke made a quick step backwards to reach for an over-head smash and thereby twisted his right ankle. Sitting down on the ground immediately he had reached out for his foot and carefully moved the joint. When he finally looked up to Elise and his coach he had a desperate look in his eyes. Sometimes a player just knew without the expertise of a doctor that the injury was serious. Elise’s heart had sunk. Not only because she knew how Christoph had to feel as she had experienced it herself, but also because a serious injury meant that Christoph wouldn’t be able to play the tournament. What would she do then, as this was a team competition?
“How does it feel?” Elise asked her partner, hoping that her words sounded cheerful. Christoph lifted his hands and managed to give her a quick smile.
“Terrible,” he answered.
In that moment a doctor came in and Elise decided it was best to leave the room again. She gave Christoph a little pat on the shoulder and walked to the door only to bump into the tournament director who rushed into the infirmary with a very worried look on his face.
***
Judging from the pastiness of the journalists’ skin, they were collectively shipped here straight from cold Blighty to follow the British tennis phenomenon Robyn had become last year and, of course, Top 10 player Ted Curry. Not a bad assignment one would think. However, they all looked gloomy and tired. And judging from their questions they were all jetlagged or perhaps just simple-minded.
Except for one guy seated on the right side. He was quite good-looking and even though he had a slight sunburn there was something about him that excited Robyn. He was wearing surf trunks and a scruffy t-shirt. His clothes clearly set him apart from all the other scribblers and with his reddish, disheveled curls he gave the impression of an Aussie surfer out of water. Footloose somehow, but with maturity. Robyn imagined him travelling the world with a backpack and a surfboard under his arm. What was someone like him doing at a tennis tournament? He had to be a journalist to get accreditation for the press conference, but Robyn had never seen him on the tour before and so far he hadn’t asked a thing. He just looked up occasionally at her and Ted. Then typed words into his laptop. She hoped he would ask her a question. She hoped she could think of a witty answer. Perhaps he would come up after the presser for a little chat. Suddenly, Robyn didn’t feel so frustrated any more. After all, at twenty-five, Ted was a tad too immature, she thought.
After ten minutes of boredom the good-looking surfer dude raised his hand. Robyn’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced around the room checking if there was anyone else who wanted to ask a question but the journalists seemed to have communally fallen asleep. She was about to give the guy a nod. But Teddy was faster.
“Yes!” He gave the surfer a smile. The reporter smiled back and addressed Teddy.
“Teddy, you seemed to have had a good time tonight. Can we expect more of this pairing?” Robyn turned around to Ted while watching the good-looking reporter from the corner of her eye.
“No, absolutely not,” Ted answered with a straight face. “You see, she hasn’t even run back for one lob yet. I honestly tried to encourage her to do that but I am not sure she’s one who listens to advice.”
There was some snickering in the back. Robyn needed to think of words quickly.
“That’s just the way our relationship is,” she said to the wild-haired reporter. “I don’t listen to blokes who refuse to moisturize their hands. That’s why he spanked me in the second set with that return.”
Ted had redirected a serve by their opponents right onto her butt. It would show tomorrow. With all the bickering going on in front the crowd was waking up. More importantly, the reporter gave her a glorious smile. But Teddy was about to counterattack.
“No,” Ted retorted with a sly smile, “that shot was for coordinating our outfits in matching colors.”
The reporters were now tittering and winking at each other. Robyn didn’t care. The redhead moved forward in his chair to ask another question.
“Robyn, what will you take from the evening? From your point of view, which particular aspect of your game needs improvement?”
Robyn was thinking quickly. As a young player every part of her game needed improvement, but she had hit a couple of good points, especially one fun shot – a between-the-leg shot – that had gained her loud applause by the spectators when it went in and won the British pair a game.
“Besides a moisturizing partner, I would say, my hot dog in particular. It’s a shot I intend to use more often as my answer to lobs.”
The room was roaring with laughter. Hands raised to the air. This press conference had become a blast. Robyn smiled, while the long-haired reporter leaned back and enjoyed the rest of the show. When it was over, the guy left quickly but not without flashing a smile in Robyn’s direction.
Stepping through the player’s exit of the media center into the night air, Robyn gave Ted Curry a huge grin.
“That was fun,” he said smiling back at her. “May I take the liberty of taking you out tonight. I know where to get you a hot dog.”
“Thank you, Ted, but I have found a hot dog myself! I don’t think yours will be as hot.”
“Then you take me out, darling. I think we have the same taste after all!”
***
It was the first match on the second day of the tournament and the first singles match for the Australian team and the stands were packed with fans.
Amanda Auster sat down on her chair. She had just broken Tamara Parova with two excellent inside-out forehand winners. Was this the beginning of one of Tamara’s massive chokes? Amanda could not hope for it. She was still one set down and trailing 3-4 in the second set. She needed to stay focused. If she could win this singles match there might be a good chance for the Australian team to get a lead in the group stage of the tournament and perhaps advance to the final of the Hopman Cup, given the fact that she and her male partner Angus Leslie were both known for their doubles skills.
But there was a distraction she couldn’t get out of her head. A glance to the left into the front row of the stands confirmed what she already knew. There was this blonde beauty smiling at her. Constantly. Who was this girl? Had they met before? Amanda shook her head. Business before pleasure, she told herself while sipping from her water bottle. She knew, it would make her even more nervous to think of the blonde girl. Instead she precautionarily began making a Top 10 list in her head of her favorite restaurants, which were scattered all over the world. It worked – for a minute at least. Now she craved for just one hour in Mr. Mochi’s restaurant in Tokyo which always ended up on the top of the list. But the good times she had in Japan last year were far away now. Moreover, food was considered compensation anyway, as her psychologist had informed her. Amanda sighed.
In the next game she had to serve with this blonde girl’s eyes on her back. It would be an annoying distraction. Playing in Perth, in front of her home crowd already made her feel tight. Ever since she had started to play on the tour over ten years ago the Australian season had never been successful for her. The crowd’s expectations and cheering had never helped her. Instead it put more pressure on her than she ever felt for the rest of the year. This was the reason why last fall her team had come up with the idea to accept the invitation for the Hopman Cup once more. In the tourn
ament mixed teams from eight different countries were playing against each other and every round consisted of two singles matches and a doubles match. It was team work to go further in the Hopman Cup as it involved playing doubles. Amanda was good in doubles. Really good. Sometimes she even won Grand Slams.
But even though playing with a partner could take some of the pressure off her shoulders, she knew that doubles didn’t count anymore. Amanda wanted to reach the top of the singles game. But losing the first match of the year wouldn’t help her achieve that goal. She exhaled and got up to walk to the baseline. She just had to get through the Australian tennis summer and then she'd feel better. Usually she tried to avoid looking at the crowd as it made her nervous to see the anxious faces, but this time Amanda turned her head and glanced into the front row. It seemed the blonde had never even looked away from Amanda. It seemed she was following Amanda’s every step and when they locked eyes for a second the blonde girl winked at her. Quickly Amanda looked away and nodded to a ball boy to throw her new balls. She needed to concentrate or she could kiss the match good-bye.
Tossing the ball up in the air, she went for a heavily sliced serve out wide. Too wide. Second serve. If there was one part of her game she could rely on with eyes closed it was her second serve. It kicked up high and was a problem for most of her opponents. But not this time. Tamara smacked it back to Amanda’s backhand. She could reach it but her ball went straight into the net. Back at the baseline Amanda turned around to the ball boy to receive new balls. She glanced up to the front row and almost missed catching the ball that was thrown at her. The girl’s seat was empty. The blonde had left in the middle of Amanda's game.
For the next two minutes Amanda felt as if she was in a slow motion haze. She simply couldn’t concentrate anymore. She shanked the ball twice into the stands and double faulted at 0-40 handing the game to a satisfied Tamara. Up a double break at 5-3 the Russian seemed to have gained confidence. Even though Amanda would save a match point with the game going to deuce multiple times, it was Tamara who smacked a scorching backhand cross-court to make the final shot of the match.
***
Elise was piling her clothes thoroughly on her bed after she had picked them up from the laundry. Over the years on the tennis tour she had developed her own system of packing and unpacking her bags without getting her belongings too mixed up. In the beginning she had lost or forgotten things in the hotel rooms, and the following fruitless search for them in the next city and the eventual realization she would never see them again had made her optimize her packing procedures.
Within twenty minutes her bags and suitcases were ready. Only the Tennis Nurse novel was still lying on her bed. Elise checked her watch. There were perhaps ten minutes left to finish the next chapter. She had read about half of the book, most of it on the plane to Australia. However, the more she had read the more she had realized how delicate the content was and after a while she began to wait until her father had fallen asleep before she pulled the novel out of her bag. She didn’t want him to ask about the book with the blatant, colorful cover.
Lying back on her bed she opened the book and began to read. Jane, the nurse and main character, was hurrying to the Wimbledon infirmary. One of the top players had gotten injured and needed immediate assistance. Of course, no one knew that Jane was having a fervid affair with the player. Elise turned the page and was just about to witness the encounter between Jane and her love interest in the empty infirmary when a knock on the door brought her back to reality. Elise stuffed the book into her bag and opened the door. Her father was waiting with a hotel trolley to load up Elise’s suitcases. Their flight to Brisbane was in two hours.
Within a day the Hopman Cup had made a deal with the Brisbane tournament, which would exchange two of its players for Elise. She had gotten a last-minute Wild Card into the tournament along with a lucky Australian fellow, while French players Morgana Doré and Philippe Montis were on their way to Perth. They had probably gotten a good deal of money for their spontaneous cooperation while Elise had a chance to pick up well-needed ranking points in Brisbane. Even though playing the Hopman Cup was a good way to start the year and she had felt honored to be invited again, she couldn't have gained points for the WTA ranking as the Hopman Cup was a tournament held by the International Tennis Federation.
It was luck. And maybe a little bit of luck was all she needed at the moment.
***
It was already getting dark when Amanda left the building with Dan Metic, her coach. After she had lost her match, Angus had won his match and which team would come out on top had to be decided by the doubles match. They had lost it – badly. Amanda had felt she had to do especially well in the doubles. The pressure she had put on herself was too much and she had gotten tight losing her service games twice in the first set and also in the second. After the disappointment she decided to hit for another half hour to let off steam. It usually helped. Her team could still win the next round and with some luck get to the first place in their group to reach the final.
“Will you come over?”
Dan stayed at a friend’s family’s house twenty minutes from the site, and it was good fun to catch up with them. But today Amanda felt more like an evening in front of her hotel room TV. She declined the offer, said good-bye to Dan and began walking over to the car park to get a driver.
The pavement was still hot and she could feel the heat through her slippers warming her feet. The flowers along the footpath effused a scent even sweeter than during the day. Or perhaps she just never became aware of these things in the bright sunlight. Her days were generally busy and meticulously scheduled by her team. There was no time to smell flowers, to relax her feet on the warm earth. No time to dream. She sighed, annoyed with her own thoughts. Dreaming wasn’t a good keyword at all. She had had the match on her racquet. She knew Tamara was about to choke, and then she had given away her own service game to love.
To love. Again, not a good keyword. Stupid, she scolded herself. Plain stupid. How could she get so sidetracked by a pretty face in the crowd? Moreover, she wasn’t given anything back. Nothing. Nada. Love, to speak in tennis terms. Yes, she got a lot of love today on the court, but no love off the court. She shouldn’t mix up these two. Business before pleasure? Now she had none of it.
She almost missed the junction that led to the car park and had to make a sharp turn. Feeling grumpier by the minute she kicked a stone with her sandal. To her surprise it flew high into the air. Following the trajectory she looked over the parked cars and there she was, only twenty feet away – the girl from the match. Leaning playfully against a red roadster.
“You.”
Amanda didn’t know how to feel. This woman had cost her the match by leaving at a pivotal moment. And now she was back smiling at her. Had she been waiting for her?
“Hey,” the tall blonde said with a smile. “You finished your practice. Good. I’ve been waiting for two hours.”
There you go, Amanda thought. But her voice was quite lovely, she had to admit.
“Do we know each other?”
“Not yet.”
The blonde girl opened the passenger door and gestured to Amanda to hop in. Was this a joke? Amanda suddenly felt certain she was on Candid Camera. But then again, was that show still on? With only two months per year spent in Australia she was completely out of touch with the TV shows here. Well, if it was some sort of Candid Camera show – this much she knew – she had to play along. She smiled sheepishly, looking around for the hidden cameras and took a step toward the car. The girl replied with a huge smile. They got into the car and with a flick of the wrist the girl started the roaring engine and sped out of the parking lot.
“Are you going to tell me your name and our destination?” Amanda glanced over waiting for an answer.
“Of course. I’m Felicia. Felicia Del Castro. Our destination will be a surprise.”
Amanda wasn’t sure she would like the surprise given the fact that the revelatio
n of the girl’s name almost made her fall out of the sports car’s seat. Felicia Del Castro. Of course. How could she not recognize the woman? She had seen her on TV on some annoying show a few weeks ago. Had she been singing a song? Amanda wasn’t sure anymore. But she remembered that as recently as Christmas some of her friends had talked about Felicia. There were a lot of rumors about the blonde girl who was now pushing the pedal to the metal. In skeptical amazement Amanda glanced over to the beautiful driver only to meet the girl’s dark blue eyes. They were mesmerizing and it felt like very long minutes that the girl held her gaze. Shouldn’t she look at the road?
“There’s a red light ahead!” Amanda squeaked.
Felicia just laughed at her before stopping with squealing tires at the junction. Her eyes were twinkling at her passenger. Amanda gasped. She wasn’t on a TV show. This was something else coming out of nowhere leading to a surprise destination with a rumored gay celebrity.
This was a date.
Brisbane, Australia
